Memories & Shadows
by Tainted Tears
Summary: [COMPLETED] A few short memories during Tom Riddle’s years, looking back at his relationships with the people who have had such an effect on his life.


**Title: **Memories and Shadows

**Author: **Crystal Charmer

**Genre: **Drama/Angst

**Rating: **G

**Warnings: **None

**Summary: **A few short memories during Tom Riddle's years, looking back at his relationships with the people who have had such an effect on his life.

**Disclaimer: **All characters recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling. The two orphans Jim and Stuart belong to me.

-oOo-

**Memories & Shadows**

Firestarter 

He escaped into the hallway, the laughs and spiteful voices slowly fading away like a thin fog as he squatted in the small wooden chair, book balanced in his hands.

He absorbed himself into the pages, moving through the words as if he were a bird in the clouds. He felt so free by himself like this, where he could hide away from all of the other children's taunts and smirks, where he could be somewhere where no one could bother him, where no one could hurt him.

"Hey! Riddle me this!"

Drat. His hideaway had been ambushed and now they were closing in. There was nowhere to run.

Tom peeked up from his book and saw Jim and Stuart heading towards him, the two ten year olds he hated the most in the orphanage. Their eyes were flicking with eagerness. They were both a lot taller than he was, and a lot stronger. Despite this, they would never be able to hurt him very seriously, as there was always someone patrolling the corridors for any misbehaving orphans.

Tom glowered at them and sunk his eyes back into the pages. "Go away."

"What are you reading, Riddle?" Stuart scowled, stepping closer. He peered at Tom with his dark eyes. "Lessons on how to be even stranger?"

Tom smiled. "You mean you wrote this?"

Jim frowned. "Think you're so clever, doncha, brains?" he spat. "You ain't so smart!"

"Fine," Tom snarled. "If you're finished, then leave."

In a fury, Stuart reached out a sturdy hand and grabbed the boy by the shoulder of his shirt, his nostrils flaring like a provoked bull. "Don't you _dare _tell _me _what to do, Riddle! You're _nothing, _hear me! You ain't worth _nothing _in this world, and you never _will _be! No one's ever going to want _you _in their family! You're going to be here forever and ever and ever and – ARRGGH!"

He let out a panicked cry as the sleeve of his jacket suddenly lit up in a bright orange and red flame, eating away at the material.

Jim's eyes blew up. "Oh, my God!"

"Help me!" Stuart squealed, flapping his arm up and down like an injured chicken. "I'm on fire! HELP ME, SOMEONE!" He ran from the room screaming.

"You're one of the supernatural, Riddle!" Jim hollered back as he rushed to aid his friend. "Strange, that's what you are! Strange!"

Tom opened his book again and rested it on his knees with a triumphant grin. Sometimes it was good to get angry.

Words of Praise

"Mr Riddle, may I have a word with you, please?"

Tom glanced up from his Transfiguration notes that he was copying from the board and focused on the teacher. The silence of the room and the tone of the professor's voice seemed to assure him that he was not in trouble.

He nodded. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

The end of the lesson drew to its close, and the students gathered up their quills and books and filed out of the classroom. Tom lingered behind, and after he had tidied his belongings in his bag he stepped gingerly up to the front desk.

"You wanted to see me, professor?" he asked.

The wizard smiled warmly. It almost seemed to melt onto his face like raindrops of the sun itself. "Yes, Tom," he replied, staring into the boy's face. "Do not worry, it is not a cause for concern. I have noticed that you are doing remarkably well in your education, and have reached levels that fourth years are currently tackling."

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

"For a third year – an underage wizard – that is very impressive," continued Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I have seen examination results from you that I have not set my sights upon for many years. Your Defence Against the Dark Arts scores were of a very high standard."

Tom blinked. Then smiled. "Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore winked at him, his grin suddenly disappearing into his long, auburn beard. "Well," he announced, standing straight, his eyes shining like the bright blue of an autumn sky. "You may leave now, Mr Riddle, but please keep in mind that the future looks bright for you indeed. Do not falter, you are doing splendidly."

"Thank you, professor."

"I have my eye on you, Tom," Dumbledore added, making his way over to the board to wipe away the used notes. "I shall be watching you. You have exceptional potential."

Tom collected his belongings and made his way out of the classroom. Before he left, he looked back at the Transfiguration teacher as he cleaned the board, and gave him a sour look.

Dark Dreams

He saw her, dancing in the darkness. It seemed as if a glowing light were surrounding her, embracing her as her brown eyes glittered with laughter.

She beamed at him, her simple yet pretty features radiant with a milky tone. Her rosy cheeks bloomed as her melodic voice drifted on the air. Her long, raven hair swirled and rippled across her shoulders like the wave on an ebony ocean lost somewhere in the heavens.

"I am here, son," she whispered gently, barely audible. "I am always here."

And then she was fading, as if the elegant glow was dissolving into a hazy fog, enveloping her and carrying her soul to its home where it dwelled.

Tom Riddle frowned in his sleep, gripping the sheets with a mild frustration as the image disappeared from his mind; banished from his dreams.

He didn't remember her the following morning, when night had cleared and the winter sun shone again, like the glowing light of an angel.

Picture Perfect

Books, parchment and busy hands fell into the Slytherin's crowded trunk as he tidied his supplies out of harms way. He was staying at Hogwarts for the summer, as usual, before the start of his final year.

His wand, inkwell and uniform danced in next. Tom placed his hands on the old lid, staring down at his future.

His wandering eyes suddenly fixed onto a small hold in the chest, where the tiny corner of a thick piece of paper peeked out.

Frowning, Tom pulled it free, noticing it to be a photograph, grey and white tinted lips and eyes. However, what seemed to catch the boy's attention was the frozen image that was captured there. This wasn't a magical photograph.

Tom's eyes blazed in anger as he travelled his gaze across the photograph of a young boy, around his age, in a red and navy blue school uniform. The boy had dark features that were outlined by neat ebony hair, and his eyes bored into the green ones of the student.

A furious growl exploded from Tom's throat as he grasped the ends of the photograph and ripped it again and again and again with trembling fingers. The pieces fell to the floor in cream and grey shreds.

The boy slumped on the end of his bed and raked his hands through his ebony hair, grinding his teeth. Wearing a disgusted look, he gazed at the worn trunk he had inherited, with the initials 'T.L.R' engraved on the side.

Cracked Mirror

Shadows devoured him as he stood there, still as marble, watching the young boy as he struggled with the limp girl on the damp floor.

"Ginny! Don't be dead! Please don't be dead!" he heard him whisper desperately as he cradled the student's body in his arms, looking into her face.

Tom travelled his eyes over the scene, watching the dark haired Gryffindor struggle. He frowned.

How was it that he was here today? Why had Tom been destined to suffer whilst a tiny baby had managed to survive? Why was it so unfair?

He stared hard and rather stiffly at him, feeling the room burn with the spark of rage that was burning strongly in his body.

"Ginny, please wake up," the boy begged.

Tom sighed, the rage calming as if water were smothering him and he stood up straight, the room simmering a little as he pulled his control together. His eyes caught the sight of the face of Salazar Slytherin built into the wall. He smirked.

"She won't wake," he whispered, stepping out of the shadows slightly, leaning against the stone pillar.

The boy flinched sharply and spun on his knees to stare in Tom's direction, his face confused.

The Slytherin seemed to freeze as he gazed at him. He danced his vision over the young wizard's Hogwarts robes, his raven black hair and his emerald green eyes. He thought it was like looking into a mirror.

And then he saw shattered glass and filtered light fall into place when he noticed Harry Potter's scar.

Model student and troublemaker. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Evil and Good.

His reflection in a cracked mirror.

**_The End_**


End file.
